Caught
by IheartSam7
Summary: Dean catches a very, very bad cold. WARNING: Chapter 7 is graphic. Not for those with weak stomachs.
1. Chapter 1

Caught

**For my new friend Mad Server. Cos she has a thing for Dean. Enjoy!**

It starts as an unassuming little tickle in the back of the throat, irritated by dust, or the cool air, or some other random thing.

That's what Dean tells himself.

He keeps clearing his throat, trying hard not to cough, but trying harder to thwart suspicion from Sam.

Sam notices anyway, nonchalantly passing a bottle of water to Dean.

"You getting sick?"

"No, man, no. It's the dry air," Dean mumbles out before he is caught in a full on coughing fit, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggles to keep from driving off the road.

"Pull over Dean. I'm driving," Sam orders, with that tone in his voice that is unmistakably John Winchester all over again.

Dean wants to argue, but he knows he will lose, big brother or not, and deep down he is secretly grateful.

His body has all of a sudden alerted him to every joint and muscle he has, the dull aching slowly taking over any memory of comfort.

They switch places, Sammy eyeballing him the whole time, as Dean curls up against the passenger window. Funny, he doesn't remember feeling cold, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as he shivers lightly.

It's been 3 hours, and Dean hasn't stirred and Sam's not sure what's more disturbing, the fact that Dean has been asleep for 3 hours, or the fact that Dean had been asleep, dead asleep, in the Impala, with Sam driving, for three hours.

When Sam pulls into the motel an hour later, Dean is snoring like he has a head full of congestion, mouth wide open, and drool rolling out of the corner of his mouth.

Dean was coughing. Again. He was sneezing too. He had been for a day now, obviously starting to get sick, no matter how much he denied it.

Sam was starting to get sick too, sick of Dean pretending not to be sick.

As Dean sniffled back what seemed like a body full of mucus, Sam cringed.

"Dean, that's only gonna make you worse, dude. Blow it out, it's gone, sniff it in, it stays."

Dean started to answer but was caught off guard by a coughing fit. The wet, hacking sound of an infection in his lungs was evident as he coughed up globs of sticky sweetness, the disgusting taste of it coating his tongue.

He walked into the bathroom and spat into the toilet, kind of grossed out by it all.

Sam was about to say something, walking towards the bathroom, but was abruptly met by the slamming of the door in his face.

He decided it was not worth the fight, and climbed into the bed, and buried himself under the covers, eyes closing as soon as he hit the pillow.

Worrying about Dean and driving for hours was tiring work, Sam thought.

He smiled to himself, as he realized that must be what Dean feels every day, grateful to still have his big brother with him.

It was 6AM when Sam rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock.

He felt refreshed after a night of uninterrupted sleep.

He thought about that for a minute and instantly bolted upright from the bed.

He hadn't heard Dean, sick, sniffling, coughing Dean all night long.

That was _so_ not good.

He looked over to the bed next to him, and saw a giant lump.

That instantly relieved tension number one.

Dean was under that lump.

Somewhere.

Sam walked over to the lump of Dean and pulled back the covers, searching for any signs of life.

He felt the heat as soon as he lifted the comforter off the bed.

Dean was absolutely sweltering under there.

Sam turned him over and tried to feel for his temperature, even though it was pretty obvious Dean was burning up.

"Dean, c'mon dude, get up" Sam urged, a quiet panic slowly spreading through him as he realized Dean was really in bad shape.

Dean just groaned and tried to take a breath in, but was met by resistance, his lungs wet and filled with congestion, forcing a terrible deep hacking cough to be emitted from them.

His eyes flew open as he tried to sit upright, the pressure of forcing the gunk from his lungs making Dean's eyes water as he straightened himself out.

He finally sat upright, still coughing, and wiped his nose, that was now running like a faucet, on the sleeve of his brown henley.

"Oh God Dean, you…"

Sam couldn't even finish his sentence, for he was too appalled by Dean's appearance.

His eyes were red rimmed, and filled with tears, and he had a matching red nose, not to mention the light purple raccoon eyes he was sporting on his ghostly pale face.

"Ugh" Dean just groaned, as he finally was able to suck down some air.

Sam went into the bathroom and grabbed a roll of toilet paper for Dean's snot filled nose.

He would go out in a little bit and get some Puffs plus with lotion, the toilet paper would have to do for now.

"Think… I , caught…a, a cold" Dean sniffled to Sam as he came out of the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Every thirty seconds or so Dean coughs.

Not just a little clear you throat kind of cough, but a lung cleaning, eyes watering, cover

your mouth cos all the green stuff comes out kind of cough.

He hacks like he has a furball stuck in there, and then spits it into the little garbage can by

the side of the bed.

Sam is completely disgusted, and decides to head to the store for some supplies.

"Be back in an hour Dean, anything you need?"

"Nuhh, uh," comes the reply.

"Wait. Sammy, some popsicles?"

It is more of a question, as Sam sees Dean looking at him with sad, sunken puppy dog

eyes, pleading for sympathy.

Sam shakes his head and is out the door.

Dean is a giant baby when he is sick.

And Sam is gonna have to play nursemaid.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean lies in bed, snuggled under the covers, hot and cold, and miserable, and feeling sorry for himself.

He feels like death.

No, scratch that.

He knows what death feels like, and this is worse.

If he moves, he feels the mucus that has been draining from his sinuses slosh around in

his stomach, making him nauseous.

If he sits still, his joints all scream out at him in an achy chorus of misery.

Either way, he is stuck in the wretchedness of it all, and there is nothing he can do.

He wants his Mommy.

He wants his Sammy.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam finally returned from the store, armed with cough syrups, Mucinex, Motrin, Nyquil, tissues, chicken soup, and popsicles for Dean.

He was armed and ready to fight this thing.

As he entered the motel room, he not only felt the heat coming from Dean, but he could smell the sickness too.

The fever was seeping out of Dean's pores, causing a not so pleasant aroma.

Dean was curled up in a heap of blankets on the bed, knees under his chin, and 3 pillows behind his head.

He was shivering slightly, and cracked his eyes open when he heard Sam walk in.

"Hey Dean, how ya feelin?" Sam asked as he walked over to the table and set all of his purchases down.

Dean replied with just a groan, his eyes bloodshot and crusty around the corners, a result watery eyes from too much sneezing.

"So do you feel like some soup? It'll help you get better" Sam suggested. "And maybe you can take a shower while I cook it."

Sam wrinkled his nose and turned back to look at Dean.

"That will _definitely_ help you feel better" he smiled, and walked over to Dean, lifting the blankets off one by one.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean groaned as Sam pulled the blankets off.

He didn't want to take a shower.

He didn't want any soup.

And most of all, he didn't want anyone to come within ten feet of him right now.

He felt well and truly miserable, and just wanted to wallow in it for a while.

His joints ached, his throat was on fire, and his nose was so sore, he was afraid to ever touch it again.

"Sam, lea'me 'lone." Dean mumbled, as he tried to pull the blankets back over him.

Try as he might to get them back, he didn't have the strength, and collapsed back onto the pillows.

"Shower Dean, you need a shower." Sam practically insisted.

Dean just lay on the bed. Exhausted.

Done for.

He didn't move, he just lay there staring at the ceiling as if it was his job.

"C'mon Dean," Sam pleaded. "I'm gonna heat this soup up for you. It's chicken noodle, just like Dad used to make when we were little and we were sick."

"He never made it Sammy, I did." Dean grumbled back, none too happy about the thought of any kind of food right now.

"Nghh" Sam, no soup."

Dean seized his chance, as Sam had walked back over to the kitchenette, grabbing the blankets and burying himself back under them.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Happy New Year. May 2009 bring loads of peace, happiness, and of course, sick and suffering Dean :D_

_Written especially for Jessie..._

_**********************************************************************_

"Dean, I am telling ya man, if you get in the shower, you are gonna feel so refreshed. I think you have sweated out the fever, so a shower will make you feel tons better."

Dean groaned under the covers, but was slowly starting to see reason.

He _did_ feel like the fever had broken.

But he _still_ felt like complete crap.

Times eighty two.

"Ok Sammy. Baybe you're right, bud no soup. I'm 'onna hurl if I smell it."

Dean rolled over, as he pondered the idea that taking a shower might actually help him feel better.

"Ok Dean, no soup. But you have to eat _something._" Sam chucked the can into the garbage and turned to look at his big brother all tangled up in the bed.

He really was a mess.

"Maybe a popsicle? It will help soothe your throat. And here, take some of this cold medicine I got you."

"Kay Sam" was all the reply he got.

Sam wandered over to the bed.

Dean unscrambled himself from the bed, with some help from Sam, took the medicine without a fight, and shuffled into the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror and did a double take.

Eyes red rimmed and swollen, irritated from itching and sneezing, and even though he would never admit it, when Sam was gone, a little sympathy crying.

His cheeks were pale as the snow, save a crimson flush on either side near his neck.

Even his hair looked sad and sick, and Dean never, ever had bad hair days.

And God, _he did_ reek.

Even through his raw, red, stuffed up nose Dean could faintly smell his vile odor.

No wonder Sam wanted him to take a shower.

******


	7. Chapter 7

**This was written in a somewhat altered state, because it's the end of 2008.**

**And because Jess asked nicely ;) **

**HAVE A SAFE NIGHT Y"ALL.**

**WELCOME TO 2009!!!**

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox**

Dean stood in the shower, the hot water cascading down his back.

He turned the cold off, jacked the hot up, and shuddered as the temperature went up in seconds.

He stepped forward, out of the spray, and leaned against the shower wall.

Bent over slightly, he inhaled the hot steam, trying to force the congestion to break up.

He took a breath in, and instantly felt it loosen, the mucus rumbling forth up his throat like a train.

Dean gagged a little, for it was thick, and clogging his throat.

He coughed hard, pounding on his chest to help it along.

He felt it in his mouth before he saw it.

The slimy, sweet honey taste of an infection encased in mucilage, pooling in the small of his mouth.

He spit it down into the tub, not wanting to look, but knowing he had to.

The green, gelatinous mucus mixed with the shower water, slowly running towards the drain.

Dean gagged again, willing himself not to puke.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, fighting off the shivers that were wracking his body.

He quickly dried himself off and opened the door to the bedroom.

"Sammy, I think we've got a problem."

**Fini...or is it?**

** *evil laugh***

**REVIEWS ARE MY SAVING GRACE. xo**


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